The Manila Trilogy: Last Cup Of Sorrow
by Assassin For Hire
Summary: Part I. First fanfic attempt at placing Elektra on a mission. The Greek ronin is in Asia and soon has her hands full, after a sting goes wrong in Manila. Strong violence and brutal action disclaimer.


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THE MANILA TRILOGY  
  
by Krista C.  
  
Part I  
  
"Last Cup Of Sorrow"  
  
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Manila, Philippines.  
  
Approximately 0100 hours.  
  
In the Asian capital of jeepneys, the local parties extended well past midnight. There, alcohol and sex went for under a dollar, and friends like Benjamin Franklin had the bar and hostel owners gleaming with huge peso signs over their eyes. American tourists endlessly took advantage of the cheap beer and here in this country, women were rented until sunset. Thin, misshapen bodies walked along the dimly-lit city roads pillaging for food or trying to get back to their wives before drunkeness overwhelmed them. There, the city always had the hanging smell of urine, garbage, and sweet cooking from the open taverns still awake.  
  
Past the outskirts of town, deeper into the heart of the polluted metropolis, were the economic and government buildings. The cars on the dusty sidewalk were more abundant. The poor were afraid to huddle along public doors for fear of being caught and beaten by the dishonorable metro police. There, the Philippine government's corruption festered, where well-lit penthouses held meetings for some of the most influential names in the country. All dirty work happened there in Manila. There was never sleep for greedy politicians. Even with the sign of the cross littering every building in town, even with the Santo Nino watching the wicked every night, there was no stopping these powerful moguls from extending the work of Marcos and passing taxes around for mere personal gain.  
  
And so it was here that another vigilant eye was sent to stalk the very heart of the Philippines.  
  
She was silent as her work needed her to be. She was invisible as the night, and dressed in a scarlet bodysuit graced by the silkiest of red ribbons. She stole into the U.S. Embassy building through the rooftop ventilation and found herself inside a utility closet, past security. She changed her name for every hit, and even then, they were always fake. Marissa Hunter. Charlotte Fisk. Rachel Kristofferson. How many names did she have? How many dead women did she steal identities from? Fifty. A hundred. The dark, lanky beauty had been at the game for years. Her name was as fleeting as the wind.  
  
But the agency that would pay her three million for this job called her by the name of Elektra, the Greek assassin. Dead to the world, she was every powerful official's dirty little tool. A mercenary working for the money. A woman ruthless in killing and scant regretful about doing it. She was the very essence of finesse and swift advances. Under her pair of vibranium sais, her targets died mercilessly and quickly. Tonight, however, it was not a Filipino she was out looking for -- it was a blonde American. Ironic that within this sea of Asians, she was sent here to murder a U.S. official. Elektra, however, was never concerned about her subjects. Just the price tag over their heads.  
  
A mumbled conversation in the hallway outside. The stamping of standard, military-issue boots on the linoleum. Elektra quickly tightened the bandanna keeping the flowing, raven hair away from her eyes and pressed her ear to the door. In the hallway, there were security guards. Their voices moved in and out, shifted from near to distant like an even vibrato. She quickly -- and correctly -- predicted a T-shaped hallway. Timing her exit, the placid ronin stepped out from the utility closet and was suddenly enveloped under bright, flourescent lights. Silently, her tabi boots devoured the long distance between this hall and the beginning of the intersection down its length. She pressed her back to the wall, sais kept close to her body to lessen their reflection. Elektra was going to have to do this fast, two guards at a time if necessary. For now, however, she preyed her attention on a single target. She halted just before the corner.  
  
Beyond her vantage point, there was a military-decked patrolman approaching her. She could hear the jingle of his keys and his weapon sliding along the rough material of his pants. She estimated his position this way. She was trained to be a heat-seeker. Hidden by her corner, Elektra eyed the fire extinguisher in the adjoining hallway and stepped back. With a quick snap of her arm and the ruffled noise of silk, a sai was flung by its tip to the red metal box. Carving through the air like an arrow, its octagon hilt ricocheted from its perfectly-aimed angle to strike her opponent on the rise of his breast, violently stabbing through soft flesh and a network of ribs. His heart exploded upon impact.  
  
The guard's cry for help was cut short as Elektra leapt to the same spot on the wall a second later, bounding in the same path as the sai. A lunging kick to the sternum drove the guard back into the wall, decorating the clean stucco crimson. His mouth spewed forth blood into the air. Airborne still, Elektra's left hand simultaneously swiped for his throat. She brandished the vibranium weapon like a cutlass as it lined a neat cut on his neck, swiftly ending the man's life. Crouching to a landing, she unsnagged the thrown sai from the man's lifeless body and wiped the blood off the blade on his soaked shirt. Usually, a well-lit hallway like this required Elektra to be even more clandestine than usual. A brief scan of the ceiling, however, revealed no cameras around the cheap establishment. She'd know otherwise. The dark figure was able to sense eyes upon her as candidly as she could watch someone breathe their last.  
  
The second patrolman, shy a year of his security training, chose that inopportune time to exit the 40th level bathroom. One glance at his partner, another stunned expression at Elektra, and the bullets from his Colt revolver immediately ate through the air in nervous rounds. He radioed in for backup amongst the ruckus. Elektra knew she had to dispose of him quickly, and with precious little time to do it. Within moments, big men with big guns filed into the hallway. No time to plan.  
  
Elektra launched herself with a kick off the wall and roundhoused the second guard on the face, cracking his jaw. The two of them crumpled to the ground, but it was the assassin who landed on her feet. Affecting a rare display of emotion on her tan visage, Elektra lifted her hypnotic gray gaze from the second dead patrolman and scowled at the advancing army. The chorus of cocked weapons rang throughout the hallway, whispering her name.  
  
"Chik-chik. Chik-chik. Chik-chik. Ch-ch-ch-b-b-b-bitch...!"  
  
Somone had lied to Elektra.  
  
This unexpected ambush was not what she had in mind and neither -- it dawned upon her like a funeral pyre -- were the schematics for this level. Her cover was blown and now she'd been seen in full sight. Pity for these hired help. They were going to die for it. Chased down by bullets, Elektra was a purely magnificient sight as sniper firepower ruffled the silk streamers of her outfit, but otherwise missed her. Her movements were fleeting and feather-light, her tall frame amass with red and black streaks from the swiftness of her dodging agility, feet revolving around the flat heel of her tabi boots, its rubber soles spiked for maximum sliding yet controlled grip on the floor. Elektra soon had the tides turned around in her favor. Soon, the exquisite ballet began to lose its sense of innocent grace.  
  
A sacrificial lamb was sent forward for the goddess of the kill to hunt down. This one was foolish and suicidal, quick to advance forward. The guard's eyes widened in hopeless terror as he realized his ammunition was doing nothing to stop the advance of this lethal creature. In the heat of the moment, her enemy was paralyzed with fear. Elektra relentlessly pursued the golden opportunity and milked it for all of its worth. Sprinting off the ground, she was once more airborne -- a feline huntress, a crimson killer. Sturdy calf muscles lifted her figure high into the air so both of her legs were propelled forward. Jettisoned like a torpedo, her legs hurdled safely over the man's weapon and she found herself in a speedy headlock of the man's neck with her thighs. The center of Elektra's weight transferred onto the man's head as her legs shot past his shoulders slid around his neck. Momentum carried the guard off-balance so he toppled backwards, his head splitting open as they crashed to the floor. Even then, his weapon was putting holes in the ceiling. All of a sudden, the Greek assassin was caught in a compromising position over the spazzing figure. The two of them slid on cement, Elektra using the guard as human padding while his strong fingers clung at her bare thighs as death took him.  
  
A few surprised breaths summed up the collective reaction of the army gathered around her. Quite frankly, they were hypnotized by her acrobatics. When their senses returned to them, however, firepower resumed. Elektra was once more inspired to action. What was the point of all this? To knock the man unconscious? Hardly. The point of taking down the submissive bull was to borrow use of his horns. A woman never wasted opportunities and neither did assassins. Straddling the unconscious man's chest in a kneeling position, Elektra dropped her sais to the floor and immediately tore away the heavy, square-nosed rifle from his fingers. One hand tightly gripped the handle while the other was plastered beneath the rifle's barrel to steady it. Accustomed to the post-firing velocity of a gun's recoil after years of sniping for crooked clients, Elektra had developed a veteran's steady arm and near-perfect aim. Round after round was fired towards the row of olive-uniformed guards before they could even pray for salvation.  
  
Glug! Glug! Glug! Glug!  
  
The moment painted an unforgettable portrait of the raven-haired woman as an avenging vigilante helming the crossfire. Merciless. Heroic. Every shell dished out from the rifle's cartridge gave her a tremendous sense of satisfaction. For all her murderous intents, however, Elektra was as tranquil as a nun. A haze of smoke, the sound of hollow screams, and the smell of gunpowder permeated the air until the gun's magazine was exhausted. When the violence died out, the entire parade of guards had been leveled and the floor soaked with the blood from their piled carcasses. The long silence broke with a loud clatter of steel as Elektra tossed the warm, spent firearm onto the cold cement. She retrieved her sais, chucking them into the outer pocket of her knee-high kevlar boots. They would be employed again soon enough. If she had to kill every employee in this building to keep the public from finding out her identity, so be it. She would remain here until sun-up.  
  
Gathering the tangled black mass of hair over her shoulder, Elektra stood to briefly study her kill. Somewhere on this floor was the man whose head she'd been sent to off. If her employers expected any clean job from this assignment, they were now going to have to add another million to the price. Slinking off down the hallway, Elektra made a run for it, fleeing from the scene of the massacre to find her next victim.  
  
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NEXT: "Running On Empty" - Part II, coming indefinitely soon.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Elektra is property of Marvel Comics.This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction online, and I welcome your comments. 


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